1. 22:36 13th Sep 2014

    Notes: 725

    Reblogged from lazyyogi

    You are a volume in the divine book.
    A mirror to the power that created the universe.
    Whatever you want, ask it of yourself.
    Whatever you’re looking for can only be found
    Inside of you.
    — Rumi (via lazyyogi)
  2. You break me
    A little bit more each day.

    I want to be close to you
    But you deny me,
    Your body so rarely next to mine
    That I forget what you feel like.
    I forget
    What it feels like to love.

    Still I make an effort
    Trying to hold the pieces together
    (for him)
    for you
    for us.

    All the while,
    I know:
    You’re fucking somebody else.

  3. image: Download

  4. image: Download

    When you feel like you’ve got nothing left in you.

    When you feel like you’ve got nothing left in you.

  5. Every morning, I stand here waiting for my coffee. Looking forward to the slow, smooth wakefulness it imparts even from the first sip (I suspect it’s mostly psychological nowadays… how awake can one really ever become when spending days and nights with a 4-month-old?)

  6. One day

    One day I will wake up and you will be gone, not because you wanted it but because I did.

    One day you will stop getting angry at me and making me feel sad, not because you began to care more but because I did.

    And when will our time be up?

    It’s still too early to tell.

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    Always the quintessential waiting.

    Always the quintessential waiting.

  8. “It is proper to welcome struggle. Its arrival is always auspicious. Struggle changes a sub-human into an ideal person. It transforms an ordinary human into a spiritually awake person respected by the world. Struggle is a subtle sculptor who shapes the life of every great spiritual master into a unique and unparalleled work of art.” - Swami Kripalu
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  10. Brink

    The days are shorter now and I am standing with my toes curled around a precipice that is called Winter and that will always suck me down, drowning, suffocating. There is hope in the promise of falling snow and crisp mornings, but only enough to take the edge off.

    What really matters is hope, if you can find it. (Where? How? When?)

    I am haunted by a memory: the choking sound of your last breaths, your empty stare as you looked at but through me, my panicked heartbeat and stifled scream as I grabbed your shoulders and shook you, shook you, willing you back to life, and breath.

    Still you drifted; slipping away from me three times, finally gasping your last, your face blurred by my tears. Fear. Silence. A grief so deep, a chasm so wide, that I could spend my entire life filling it and it would never be enough.

    There is life inside me, now, but I do not feel it and I would have ended it if you were still with me. But somewhere, a small voice whispered, and I listened. I wanted this life to be an extension of you, to have your eyes, and your heart, and your love. And so I could not do it. I thought of you, of your beautiful smile, and I could not choose anything but love, and life, and hope. For you. To remember you. To bring you to life, one more time.